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THE NIGHT-WATCH.
O MEDITATION sweet, that makes
The midnight watch an hour of rest,
And brings, when fickle sleep forsakes,
A holier calm to hearts opprest.

Soft speaking as to one so near
That, kneeling, we might kiss His feet,
The Name above all names most dear
Our erst complaining lips repeat.

Our griefs that Christ alone can guess,
Our doubts that Christ alone can know,
Flow out to meet His tenderness,—
In tearful confidences flow.

For He who bore all sorrow, weighed,
Hailed to His own, each lesser cross
He knows the burden on us laid,
The secret pain, the hidden loss.

Touched with our woes, He lifteth up
The humblest follower in His train
He maketh sweet the bitter cup,
And death itself is blessed gain.

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